t will always be what I want most, won't it?" I 
challenged. "Blood, blood, and more blood!" 

"The fact that you are still alive is proof that that is not true," he pointed out. 

"Over eighty years later," I reminded him. "What I meant wasphysically, though. 
Intellectually, I know I'll be able to be myself . . . after a while. But just purely physically - I 
will always be thirsty, more than anything else." 

He didn't answer. 

"So Iwill be different," I concluded unopposed. "Because right now, physically, there's 
nothing I want more than you. More than food or water or oxygen. Intellectually, I have my 
priorities in a slightly more sensible order. But physically . . ." 

I twisted my head to kiss the palm of his hand. 

He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady. 

"Bella, I could kill you," he whispered. 

"I don't think you could." 

Edward's eyes tightened. He lifted his hand from my face and reached quickly behind himself 
for something I couldn't see. There was a muffled snapping sound, and the bed quivered 
beneath us. 

Something dark was in his hand; he held it up for my curious examination. It was a metal 
flower, one of the roses that adorned the wrought iron posts and canopy of his bed frame. 
His hand closed for a brief second, his fingers contracting gently, and then it opened again. 

Without a word, he offered me the crushed, uneven lump of black metal. It was a cast of the 
inside of his hand, like a piece of play dough squeezed in a child's fist. A half-second passed, 
and the shape crumbled into black sand in his palm. 

I glared. "That's not what I meant. I alreadyknow how strong you are. You didn't have to 
break the furniture." 

 

"Whatdid you mean then?" he asked in a dark voice, tossing the handful of iron sand to the 
corner of the room; it hit the wall with a sound like rain. 

His eyes were intent on my face as I struggled to explain. 

"Obviously not that you aren't physically able hurt me, if you wanted to . . . More that, 
youdon't want to hurt me . . . so much so that I don't think that you ever could." 

He started shaking his head before I was done. 

"It might not work like that, Bella." 

"Might," I scoffed. "You have no more idea what you're talking about than I do." 

"Exactly. Do you imagine I would ever take that kind of risk with you?" 

I stared into his eyes for a long minute. There was no sign of compromise, no hint of 
indecision in them. 

"Please," I finally whispered, hopeless. "It's all I want. Please." I closed my eyes in defeat, 
waiting for the quick and final no. 

But he didn't answer immediately. I hesitated in disbelief, stunned to hear that his breathing 
was uneven again. 

I opened my eyes, and his face was torn. 

"Please?" I whispered again, my heartbeat picking up speed. My words tumbled out as I 
rushed to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. "You don't have to make me 
any guarantees. If it doesn't work out right, well, then that's that. Just let ustry . . . only try. 
And I'll give you what you want," I promised rashly. "I'll marry you. I'll let you pay for 
Dartmouth, and I won't complain about the bribe to get me in. You can even buy me a fast 
car if that makes you happy! Just . . .please. " 

His icy arms tightened around me, and his lips were at my ear; his cool breath made me 
shiver. "This is unbearable. So many things I've wanted to give you - andthis is what you 
decide to demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, trying to refuse you when you 
plead with me this way?" 

"Then don't refuse," I suggested breathlessly. 

He didn't respond. 

"Please," I tried again. 

"Bella . . ." He shook his head slowly, but it didn't feel like a denial as his face, his lips, 
moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart, racing already, 

 

spluttered frantically. 

Again, I took what advantage I could. When his face turned toward mine with the slow 
movement of his indecision, I twisted quickly in his arms till my lips reached his. His hands 
seized my face, and I thought he was going to push me away again. 

I was wrong. 

His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the 
way his lips moved. I locked my arms around his neck, and, to my suddenly overheated skin, 
his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill. 

He didn't stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then 
his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. The thrill of victory was a 
strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren't unsteady now; I got 
through with the buttons on his shirt this time easily, and my fingers traced the perfect planes 
of his icy chest. He was too beautiful. What was the word he'd used just now? Unbearable - 
that was it. His beauty was too much to bear. . . . 

I pulled his mouth back to mine, and he seemed just as eager as I was. One of his hands still 
cupped my face, his other arm was tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. It made 
it slightly more difficult as I tried to reach the front of my shirt, but not impossible. 

Cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was 
suddenly on a pillow. 

His lips were at my ear again. "Bella," he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. "Would 
youplease stop trying to take your clothes off?" 

"Do you want to do that part?" I asked, confused. 

"Not tonight," he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all 
the urgency gone. 

"Edward, don't -," I started to argue. 

"I'm not saying no," he reassured me. "I'm just sayingnot tonight. " 

I thought about that while my breathing slowed. 

"Give me one good reason why tonight is not as good as any other night." I was still 
breathless; it made the frustration in my voice less impressive. 

"I wasn't born yesterday." He chuckled in my ear. "Out of the two of us, which do you think 
is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before 
you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won't go 
running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am - clearly - much less reluctant to give you what 

 

you want. Therefore . . . you first." 

I exhaled with a loud huff. "I have to marry you first?" I asked in disbelief. 

"That's the deal - take it or leave it. Compromise, remember?" 

His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too 
persuasive - it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head . . . and failed quickly and 
absolutely. 

"I think that's a really bad idea," I gasped when he let me breathe. 

"I'm not surprised you feel that way." He smirked. "You have a one-track mind." 

"How did this happen?" I grumbled. "I thought I was holding my own tonight - for once - 
and now, all of a sudden -" 

"You're engaged," he finished. 

"Ew!Please don't say that out loud." 

"Are you going back on your word?" he demanded. He pulled away to read my face. His 
expression was entertained. He was having fun. 

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react. 

"Are you?" he pressed. 

"Ugh!" I groaned. "No. I'm not. Are you happy now?" 

His smile was blinding. "Exceptionally." 

I groaned again. 

"Aren't you happy at all?" 

He kissed me again before I could answer. Another too-persuasive kiss. 

"A little bit," I admitted when I could speak. "But not about getting married." 

He kissed me another time. "Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?" he laughed 
in my ear. "Traditionally, shouldn't you be arguing my side, and I yours?" 

"There isn't much that's traditional about you and me." 

"True." 

He kissed me again, and kept going until my heart was racing and my skin was flushed. 

 

"Look, Edward," I murmured, my voice wheedling, when he paused to kiss the palm of my 
hand. "I said I would marry you, and I will. I promise. I swear. If you want, I'll sign a contract 
in my own blood." 

"Not funny," he murmured against the inside of my wrist. 

"What I'm saying is this - I'm not going to trick you or anything. You know me better than 
that. So there's really no reason to wait. We're completely alone - how often does that 
happen? - and you've provided this very large and comfortable bed. . . ." 

"Not tonight," he said again. 

"Don't you trust me?" 

"Of course I do." 

Using the hand that he was still kissing, I pulled his face back up to where I could see his 
expression. 

"Then what's the problem? It's not like you didn't know you were going to win in the end." I 
frowned and muttered, "You always win." 

"Just hedging my bets," he said calmly. 

"There's something else," I guessed, my eyes narrowing. There was a defensiveness about his 
face, a faint hint of some secret motive he was trying to hide behind his casual manner. 
"Areyou planning to go back on your word?" 

"No," he promised solemnly. "I swear to you, wewill try. After you marry me." 

I shook my head, and laughed glumly. "You make me feel like a villain in a melodrama - 
twirling my mustache while I try to steal some poor girl's virtue." 

His eyes were wary as they flashed across my face, then he quickly ducked down to press his 
lips against my collarbone. 

"That's it, isn't it?" The short laugh that escaped me was more shocked than amused. "You're 
trying to protect your virtue!" I covered my mouth with my hand to muffle the giggle that 
followed. The words were so . . . old-fashioned. 

"No, silly girl," he muttered against my shoulder. "I'm trying to protectyours. And you're 
making it shockingly difficult." 

"Of all the ridiculous -" 

